


Soot and Magic

by eldee



Series: summerpornathon 2012 [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Setting, Community: summerpornathon, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/pseuds/eldee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur accompanies Merlin to the woods. Merlin performs a ritual with the remains of a fire, and Arthur is in awe.   </p><p>(Written for summerpornathon 2012 round #1)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soot and Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [summerpornathon 2012](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/profile) round 1 but I have expanded it from its previous 750 word limit. Based off this (NSFW) [picture prompt.](http://i.imgur.com/jE9L0.jpg) Thanks to [fuzzytomato02](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzytomato/pseuds/fuzzytomato) for betaing this extended version.

Merlin and Arthur ride deep into the Forest of Balor, alone and without knights to keep guard. They travel together for one of Merlin's matters of magic, and Arthur isn't even needed for it, not really, but he's wanted there. At the castle, Merlin had explained to Arthur why he was going to the forest, and Arthur immediately agreed to accompany him when asked. He can't imagine denying Merlin this, not ever.

They set up a camp before the sun is completely gone below the earth, and Merlin busies himself with collecting wood for the fire. He's no longer Arthur's servant, hasn't been for a long time now, but he takes to the task without question, even insisting Arthur sit while he does it. After watching Merlin's slow movements through the forest, and the care he takes in picking logs, Arthur understands -- it's for the ritual, and Merlin knows best what he will need.

Merlin is quiet, absolutely and unusually quiet, as he starts the fire. He starts it the usual way, with stone and flint, rather than with a spark of magic. It's been a long time since Merlin's done that, and Arthur realises it's necessary for the ritual he's already begun performing. Curiosity itches under Arthur's skin; he wants it to be like back in Camelot, when he asks dozens of questions as to what is being done and why, and Merlin teaches him the answers.

Arthur sits as still and quiet as Merlin. If _Merlin_ , of all the people, can do it then Arthur can too. But he watches avidly, taking in everything he can and trying to keep a mental list of questions to ask later.

Merlin's voice is low when he begins to speak, and the spell weaves out of him in a way Arthur won't ever comprehend or be able to replicate. The flames spark and dance, and the burning bark shimmers through the colours of the rainbow before settling on black.

When Merlin turns to Arthur, the gold in his eyes is swirling away into blue, but the light of the fading fire catches there anyway. As always now, privileged to witness it, Arthur is awed and fascinated by Merlin’s power.

“Now we wait,” Merlin says in the language Arthur understands, overlaying the spell on the night air that he did not.

“For what?”

“Tomorrow,” Merlin says. "I need the weak sun of the early morn."

Years ago, when Merlin first started as Arthur's servant, he would've laughed and ridiculed (at best -- he doesn't want to think about at worst) Merlin for saying such a thing. Now, he just nods his head in acceptance, stands up and pulls out Excalibur, ready to keep guard.

"You can rest too," Merlin says as he spreads out the bedroll.

"I'll keep watch," Arthur says. "You need sleep."

Merlin is perfectly at peace, an ease to his face he wouldn't have in other parts of Albion as he takes in the forest around him. "We are completely safe here. You needn't worry."

"I'm not worrying," Arthur retorts. "I'm being practical."

"There's a reason that I chose here," Merlin explains. "And the ritual is not yet complete. Nothing will harm us, I swear."

"Magic or sword, Merlin," Arthur says stubbornly. "One of us needs to be on guard."

"Arthur," Merlin says, a little exasperated. But it's soft when he adds, "Please trust me. Lay down at least? It's cold and we can't stoke the fire any more."

Arthur sighs but doesn't deny, not exactly. They press together on the bedroll for warmth, the flames dying as heat is lost to the dark. But even though Merlin easily falls asleep, Arthur stays awake and keeps watch. Not that he doesn't trust Merlin, but because it's ingrained in him to do it, and he will not let harm come to either of them.

In the dim grey of morning, Merlin stirs. He glares at Arthur, as if knowing Arthur had barely caught a wink, but otherwise remains silent. He gathers what he needs and sets it up beside the cooled, charred logs. Merlin’s language fills the still air, quiet and reverent, his eyes flashing.

It’s always a kick to Arthur’s gut seeing Merlin like this, to _know_ this is truly him. Strong, powerful, a respect for magic woven in every breath. Arthur listens to learn.

Arthur startles as Merlin removes all his clothing, piece by slow piece, but Merlin seems perfectly comfortable in doing so, so Arthur doesn't make a mention of it. In the growing light, Merlin is naked amongst the trees, gorgeous pale skin and long lines, kneeling in front of a long extinguished fire that’s taken on the quality of an alter.

“Before the Gods and my King,” Merlin says, bowing his head at Arthur, “I am yours. Always.”

He’s breathtakingly beautiful, and Arthur is honoured. He bows his head in return. To not disturb, his prayer for Merlin is silent but familiar on his mind.

Merlin picks up one of the logs, dipping the end in the small bowl of water he collected at the nearby brook. He uses it to paint his body, the wet soot smearing over his chest, arms and thighs, thick lines mixed with errant smudges. Merlin speaks more magic, loud and strong. The grey ash starts to shimmer, a rippling gold that matches his eyes trailing all over him. With a final burst, the lines all shine bright, then fade to sharp black. It’s more solid on his skin now.

Arthur swallows hard, unblinking. The magic on the air makes the hair on his arms stand up. Warmth and want for Merlin pools in his belly, and he desperately wishes to reach out and touch, smear the ash some more, everywhere, but now is not the time.

“It is done,” Merlin announces. “Come, now, let’s leave this place.”

He dresses, loose clothes over dirty marks. As much as he wants to, Arthur can tell not to question or push anything that moment. He can wait. He prepares the horses, and their journey out of the forest is much less pressing than the day before. They ride until it’s past midday and they finally take a break. Arthur’s led them to a stream.

“Perhaps you should clean up.”

Merlin makes a face as he plucks at his tunic, the dirt underneath probably gritty and uncomfortable. “Yes, I should," Merlin says. He strips down for a second time that day, more casual and relaxed. As he walks to the edge of the water, he shoots Arthur a playful look over his shoulder. “Coming?”

There he is, the approachable Merlin that Arthur adores even more than the powerful one. Arthur’s quick to join him, pieces of clothing stripped down and left in trail behind him. His sword lies on the stream bank, and he stays close enough that it's within a seconds' reach, but Merlin happily comes to him. They kneel next to each other in the shallow stream.

Both scooping up water, they rid Merlin of the soot. Arthur rubs his wet hands over as much of Merlin’s skin as possible, dirty or not. Meandering rivulets trail down in ashy paths until it’s all gone, washed away in the gentle current. When Arthur continues to touch, Merlin’s breath starts to hitch and he presses closer, hands braced on Arthur's thighs.

After Arthur kisses Merlin, deep and exploring, Merlin whispers against his lips, desperate. “Arthur, _please_.”

Under the surface, Arthur takes Merlin’s cock in hand, already starting to thicken. In slow, languid pulls, Arthur brings him to full hardness, causing Merlin to shiver beneath his caresses. Merlin groans, and peppers Arthur’s mouth with fast kisses.

Merlin says heatedly, “I want -- I’ve been thinking about it -- _Arthur_ …“ He trails off with a groan when Arthur twists his wrist and swipes his thumb over Merlin’s cock head. Merlin reaches down, eager, and starts to stroke Arthur’s cock with a practiced, familiar hand.

Earlier, Arthur hadn’t allowed himself to really think about it, the timing too inappropriate, but it’s been there since the morning, since the magic, a dull thrum in the back of his mind and between his legs. Wet skin and deep kisses have only urged it on.

They stroke each other in a teasing tandem, the wet slick of water only heightening the sensations and making it all that easier. They don’t need to linger, out in the open as they are, and both are desperate to get off. It’s Merlin who comes first with a muffled cry, face pressed against Arthur’s neck. His body shudders against Arthur’s, fingernails of one hand scratching down Arthur’s back.

Merlin heaves for breath, but his strong strokes don’t falter, focusing on Arthur and his cock, even as he distractedly bites at Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur can feel it build up in him like liquid fire in the pit of his stomach. His body is hot despite the pool of water they’re still sitting in, entwined together. He’s so gone he doesn’t even hold back as he comes with a shout, Merlin’s name on his lips released into the afternoon.

“Shh,” Merlin says, though he’s laughing, delighted. He should always sound like that, be like that, as far as Arthur’s concerned. He vows to himself to make it so, and it brings something to Arthur’s mind.

“Will it work?” Arthur asks of the ritual, his forehead against Merlin’s as he tries to catch his breath. The cool water swirls around them, washing them both clean again.

“Yes,” Merlin answers softly, damp hand reaching up to push hair off Arthur’s forehead. He smiles, fond. “Thank you for being there.”

Arthur can only answer with a kiss, trying to pour all he feels into it. Anything to keep Merlin safe.

When they’re back on the bank, Merlin says, “You should rest. I’ll keep watch.”

“We can’t linger here too much longer,” Arthur says, though he sits down on the grass. “Camelot will miss its king.”

“That I don’t doubt,” Merlin says, and leans over to gently push Arthur back. “But Camelot is safe for now, I promise. Sleep a bit, Arthur.”

It may have taken a while to build it up again, but Arthur trusts Merlin implicitly. So he lays back and closes his eyes against the afternoon sun, feeling Merlin’s presence right there. He dreams of soot and water and everlasting kisses.

~end


End file.
